Intervention of an Angel
by Lanthiriel25
Summary: Voicemail 'fix-it' story. Set between 'Fallen Idols' (S5E5) and 'I Believe the Children are our Future' (S5E6). Cas discovers that the voicemail Sam heard was not the one Dean sent. When he reveals this to Sam, what will this mean for the Winchester boys? (some mild swearing, although nothing which isn't common in the show)


Summary: Voicemail 'fix-it' story. Set between 'Fallen Idols' (S5E5) and 'I Believe the Children are our Future' (S5E6). Cas discovers that the voicemail Sam heard was not the one Dean sent. When he reveals this to Sam, what will this mean for the Winchester boys?

Warnings: Some swearing, although nothing which isn't common in the show.

Disclaimer: Writing belongs to me (apart from one line borrowed from 'Ten Inch Hero' movie). Everything else belongs to Warner Brothers/CW/Kripke and co. For entertainment purposes only.

AN: The voicemail has always bugged me as I hate the idea of Sam not knowing what Dean really said so I wanted to find a way to put it right whilst still fitting in with the show. I know it's been done before, but this is my spin on things. Hope you enjoy. Also, just wanted to say thank you to Lindelas for her support and for encouraging me to post it for others to read. I'm a bit nervous as this is my first SPN story so please be gentle, but reviews and concrit are welcome.

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**Intervention of an Angel**

Sam started slightly as Dean knocked on the bathroom door, his voice carrying over the sound of the shower.

'I'm going for burgers. Want me to get you one of your weird health-freak chick-salad-things?'

Spitting the water out his mouth, swiping his wet hair off his face, Sam reached for the shampoo with a ghost of a smile. Dean's aversion to any food even vaguely considered nutritious was always amusing.

'Weird health-freak chick-salad-things?!'

'It's a technical term Sam. Was that a yes?' Dean's exasperated tone filtered through the flimsy motel bathroom door.

'Yeah, I…Thanks.'

Hearing Dean leave Sam squirted the shampoo into his hand and proceeded to lather it into his hair before simply standing under the warm spray, enjoying the way the water smoothed over his neck, shoulders and back. Whether he was driving or riding shotgun, a 14 hour day spent in the Impala still made him feel bent in two; he was grateful of the chance to ease out. Rinsing away the shampoo Sam shut off the faucet and stepped out the shower wrapping the towel around himself to fend off the cooler air. Sounds of movement in the main room caught his attention. His eyes narrowed slightly in concentration; he threw his senses outward, listening for whoever, or whatever, was on the other side of the door. Dean wouldn't be back so soon, and with all the luck they were having recently it could be anything from the Devil himself to a drunk who'd got the wrong room. Sam grimaced. Not taking any chances he carefully retrieved his gun from his jeans which were pooled in the middle of the floor with the rest of his discarded clothes. Checking the clip, arming it and pulling back the safety Sam leant against the wall next to the doorframe, his hand curling around the door handle. He could still hear quiet rustling of paper beyond the door. Three, two, one…

Sam pulled the door open, bursting into the room, eyes scanning expertly across the space, assessing the danger. The last thing he expected though was to see Castiel standing there facing him, entirely unconcerned at being suddenly confronted with a towel-clad Winchester pointing a loaded gun at him.

'Hello Sam,' Cas stated, his tone disconcertedly neutral.

'Um, hi Cas,' Sam responded awkwardly, feeling distinctly out of place in his own motel room; he tried desperately not to fidget. He quickly lowered his gun, flicking the safety back on. 'What…what are doing here Cas? Everything ok?'

'I was hoping Dean could tell me.' Cas explained. 'He left me a message earlier saying you were both here, but didn't say what he wanted.'

'Well, we're not on a hunt at the moment Cas. Just driving and keeping our eyes and ears open for, you know, anything important and otherwise just trying to lay low. He didn't say anything else?'

'He asked me how I was doing.' His tone seemed to convey that Cas seemed puzzled that Dean would do such a strange thing.

Huh. Dean making social calls, that was new. Well, maybe he had something he wanted to ask Cas about which didn't involve him, Sam mused. The thought stung a little. Not wanting to have an extended conversation with the angel dressed in only a towel Sam returned to the bathroom, leaving Cas alone for the moment. He quickly dried himself and pulled out his clean clothes.

'He's gone out for food. Why don't you phone him, find out when he's back?' he called to Cas through the ajar bathroom door.

'I can't.'

'Why not?' Sam's voice was muffled as he pulled on his shirt, but Cas seemed to hear him well enough.

'My phone is elsewhere.'

'Use mine,' Sam offered. 'It's in my duffle.'

Sam heard Cas undo his bag and start to rifle through it. He assumed Cas had found it when the sound of rummaging stopped, but he couldn't hear Cas talking on the phone. Maybe it wasn't in there after all; had he left it in the car?

'You got it?' Sam asked.

'I have it. Sam? What other angel has used your phone?'

Sam frowned in confusion. Why would he give his phone to an angel? Pulling on his socks he returned to the main room, throwing the towel over the rail on his way out of the bathroom. Cas was standing in the centre of the room, staring intently at his phone in the palm of his hand as if it held the answers of the universe.

'No-one, Cas. Apart from you, now, obviously. Why?' Apprehension touched his words; was this another angel target?

'Sam, your phone, it's been tampered with, by an angel. I can sense it; it's like an imprint. It's weak so it was a while ago I would think, maybe around the time when…'

Cas glanced at Sam thoughtfully, intently, causing Sam to fidget under the scrutiny, feeling decidedly like a child being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, if said cookie jar was somehow the trip-switch for end of the world. Trickles of water from his drying hair running down his neck causing him to shiver didn't help in the slightest.

'Didn't you sense it? ' Cas asked curiously. 'Angels and demons can detect imprints such as this, residue of an angelic interception or manipulation. I would have thought, with the sheer amount of demon blood in your system at the time, you would have sensed it too.'

Sam flinched at the mention of the demon blood; at the time he was so sure he was doing the right thing, he was only trying help everyone, himself, Dean, the world, and look what he had done instead. It hurt like nothing else he'd ever felt, the deep-seated, gut-twisting black hole in his insides. He remembered the feeling of the foreign blood coursing through his system; it was hot and heady all at once, his body and mind twitching with the power it offered. The taste on his tongue that was both bitter and sweet, his senses sharpened, his mind focused with such precision that everything seemed so clear to the point of trippy overexposure. He shook his head, trying to displace the memory as his extremities began to tingle in recollection. Never again, he vowed, he was clean; he'd take the cloying, churning pit of guilt in his gut over the thrumming power the blood offered to him. He desperately wished he could turn back the clock, do things differently, get back everything he'd lost, for himself and for his small family, but he couldn't, and he'd resigned himself to looking forward, to try to fix that which he had broken. He couldn't let what he'd done define him, tear down everything he held dear, so he was fighting, in every way he could; he was trying to get past the fear, the heartbreak, the anguish, trying to reconnect with Dean, find his place back by his brother's side, his place in the universe. He just wanted to move on from the demon blood, but it would seem that he would never be able to truly leave it behind him, something would always happen to bring it up again, to bring it back. That figures; he had the Winchester luck after all. Sam gave a short, humourless laugh.

'I was a bit preoccupied with Lilith and trying to stop the start of the Apocalypse. I doubt weird vibes from my phone would've registered at that point, even if I was able to sense something.' Sam replied wryly, with more than a hint of ever-present remorse.

Did he remember sensing anything though? He remembered being reluctant to listen to Dean's message, holding his phone in his hand and pondering over it for agonising moments as Ruby looked on, but that was because he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear what Dean had to say, not some recognition of angel radiation or something, wasn't it? Sam can't remember; Dean's voice and words, slicing into his brain and heart mere moments later, were the only things he could remember with any clarity from that horrific night. Well that and the feel of the rough material of Dean's jacket clutched in his fist as the Cage opened, the incredulous knowledge that his brother was somehow there with him, by his side.

Cas returned his attention Sam's handset, examining it from every possible angle before flipping it over in his hand with an air of apprehension. His brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth a tight line as he dug his nails into the plastic join, pulling the device apart to examine the inside, searching for answers, an explanation of the imprint he sensed. After watching for a few moments, Sam decided to leave Cas to his analysis. Wiping a hand wearily across his face in an attempt to banish the emotions that had unexpectedly been dragged to the forefront of his mind, Sam glanced around the motel room, searching for something to occupy him. Spotting the pile of clothes which were strewn across the threadbare couch in the corner of the room, Sam decided sorting laundry would be as good a distraction as any. Pulling a t-shirt from the pile, he grimaced as the smell of dried sweat and blood hit him, but he couldn't help feel a sliver of gratefulness as the smell clouded the imagined scent of sulphur which had been clawing its way up his nose ever since demon blood had been brought up.

Minutes later Cas's voice cut through the thick silence, breaking Sam out of his concentration on their clothes. Turning to face the angel, Sam could detect a certain uneasiness in his expression; whatever Cas was going to say, he wasn't going to like it.

'This is a powerful manipulation.'

Cas handed him the memory chip he'd prised from Sam's phone, gesturing for him to take it and look. Sam peered carefully at it, unsure as to what he was supposed to be searching for, almost certain he didn't really want to see whatever it was in any case.

'Is that…Enochian?' Sam asked in disbelief, bringing the small circuit board closer to his face to get a better look, squinting slightly. Tiny symbols had been imprinted or carved into the memory chip itself. He felt his stomach clench. 'What does it mean? What are they for?'

Glancing up at the angel as he passed the memory chip back, Sam couldn't read his expression. It was almost as blank as it nearly always was but there was a flicker of something else. Sadness maybe? But why would the fact that an angel had used his phone for some graffiti make Cas sad? Whatever the reason it made him nervous. Sam didn't understand.

'Sam, this is important. We need to…' Cas began gravely.

'Need to what?' a voice interrupted from the doorway.

Both Sam and Cas's attention zeroed in on Dean as he closed the door behind him. Throwing the Impala keys on the table, dropping the paper bag of food next to it, Dean sank with a sigh onto the nearest chair, the rickety wood groaning slightly under him as he kicked his legs up onto the table, folding them at the ankle. He was the perfect picture of ease, as if he hadn't a care in the world, and Sam knew that that couldn't be further from the truth. But apparently the promise of food was enough put Dean at ease at this moment in time, and wasn't that just contradictory on so many levels, especially given how on edge and agitated Dean had been lately? Sam knew thought that Dean was a mess of contradictions at the best of times, both so old and so young, so jaded and so innocent in equal measure, so he didn't question it too much. He just knew that the atmosphere in the room had shifted dramatically with the arrival of his brother, all chilled out and seemingly content. The tension which had been roiling in his gut had lessened and he felt he could breathe a little easier; the air no longer felt so thick, the walls less restricting.

But Dean had to have felt the atmosphere in the room he'd walked into though, Sam knew that much at least; he'd always been good at reading situations, at reading his brother, and even considering the recent distance between them, Sam couldn't believe that Dean hadn't read the anxiety in his face and body language, or at least the gravitas and urgency in Cas' voice; he had to know something was wrong, surely. So why was he acting so relaxed? Maybe he just doesn't care, Sam's treacherous mind supplied. Maybe he's sick of dealing with you and your issues. Maybe he's ignoring you and your drama in the hope that it, that you, will disappear. The fist clenching at his insides gave a brutal twist as these thoughts flashed through Sam's mind; the tension once again returning.

Dean reached for the bag, pulling out a burger, unwrapping it and taking a big bite, as if he hadn't eaten for a week, seemingly oblivious to every emotional indicator around him. Making a sound of pure pleasure as the taste burst in his mouth, Dean finally acknowledged the others again.

'Whatcha doin' here Cas?' Dean questioned offhandedly around a mouthful of food, as if this information came second to the far more important task of devouring the burger he held. It was a skill, Sam mused slightly hysterically to himself, Dean's ability to talk with his mouth that full and not spray whoever he was addressing with food. Seeing their almost incredulous faces, Dean frowned in apparent confusion at their reaction to his arrival and actions, but understanding appeared to register. Shaking his head slightly to himself with a small huff, Dean leant over, pushing the bag across the table towards them, towards Cas. 'Want one?' he offered, expression open and curious. 'I got, like, four, cos they are just that good, but I don't mind parting with one of them if you're hungry. I know better than to expect Sam to appreciate the joys of a good burger, so you, my feathery nerd-angel friend, are my new burger protégé.' Dean smiled cheekily as he swallowed, as if this was the greatest honour anyone could ever bestow on another person.

Sam couldn't help the twitch that tugged at the corner of his mouth at this statement. As if Cas would be any better than him at appreciating Dean's fine cuisine preferences. Dean caught his gaze, his eyes shining with mischief, with something else just dancing out of reach. His gaze bored into Sam's, saying things words, and even gestures, couldn't; then it hit him. Dean was fully aware he'd walked into the middle of something important, something which made Sam nervous and uncomfortable, probably something Ruby or Apocalypse related, and he was trying to diffuse it before everything got too much to handle, in the only way he knew how. Despite his insistence that he didn't need to be treated like a little kid brother anymore, Sam couldn't help but feel warmed by the gesture. Despite everything, Dean was looking out for him still, albeit more subtly, well, as subtle as his older brother could be.

'We have more pressing matters to address than that of my palette, Dean.' Cas interjected sternly.

Dean raised a questioning, but somehow defiantly amused, eyebrow, as he took a second big bite of his bounty in a pseudo-challenge to that statement. However Sam decided it would probably be best, if painful, to bring Dean up to speed with the situation; what that was though, it's not that Sam really even knew yet, just that it wasn't likely to be good.

'Dean, Cas says angels have been messing with my phone. Maybe using it to track us or something, I don't know.' He shrugged helplessly.

Dean frowned as he swallowed his food, placing his burger aside, his feet falling to the floor as he swung his legs off the table. Sam watched sadly as Dean's expression shuttered, all levity gone in an instant. Running his hand across his face, he leant forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees. Possible strategies, outcomes, contingency plans running through his head in quick succession of what this information could mean for them all; Dean was focused on the problem at hand in an instant. Sam couldn't help feel the loss of the more care-free side of his brother. When he realised Cas was speaking again Sam forced himself out of his own head and listen to what was being said.

'I doubt it's a tracking device. You would have known about it before now if it were. It would seem they altered something.'

Sam couldn't be sure, most likely he was mistaken, but behind the angel's enigmatic expression and level tone of voice he thought he could sense something, something like kindness, like reassurance.

'Give me a moment. I can isolate the focus of the energy and discover the intention behind this intrusion. It's heavily encoded; they put a lot of work into this. Whatever they did to Sam, it must have been important to them.' Cas continued.

Sam risked a look at how Dean was responding to the information, that Sam had yet again been used in some way, that Sam had again, however inadvertently, been complicit in giving the enemy an advantage, something they could use against them. Sam chewed his lip, folding his arms around him. In his mind this was just one more thing in a long line of obstacles thrown at them. He and Dean were making positive strides in rebuilding their relationship, moving past the whole demon blood/final seal thing, but with the way the universe seemed to be conspiring against them he wasn't sure how much progress they could make, how much they could withstand.

'Hey! Sam!'

Sam jumped, seeing Dean holding out his salad box to him, expression equal parts exasperation and worry at Sam's distracted pacing.

'Sit down and eat your girl food Roger Rabbit,' he smirked, trying to put Sam at ease once again.

Accepting the proffered box from Dean's hand, Sam sat in the chair opposite Dean and tried to relax. They didn't know what they were dealing with here yet, not really, so no need to worry yet, right? Yeah, like they were ever that lucky when it came to things like this. With a sigh Sam wondered why it had to be him, again. Why his phone? Why not Dean's? Would they never be done trying to use him against his brother, compromise him? He was tired of being the one that let everyone down, the weak link, the easy prey. It wasn't logical, he knew that, and Sam sure as hell didn't wish any kind of coercion or subterfuge to be aimed at his brother instead, but that didn't stop him from wishing all the enemy manipulation attempts weren't seemingly focused on him. How long til Dean suggested they split up again because of it? No, he berated himself, Dean wanted him by his side, had asked him back. Dean had agreed, they were in this together, he'd said. Sam tried to hold onto that and ignore all the other thoughts swirling round his head.

Dean could see Sam was stressing out, and hadn't he done enough of that for several life times? Scrunching up his now empty burger wrapper, he threw it at his brother, hoping to get some kind of reaction. When he only received a half-hearted glare in return Dean decided Sam had had enough of burying himself inside his own head for one day.

'Cas, come on man!' Dean prompted. 'Care to fill us in here?'

Cas turned his piercing gaze from the phone to Dean, his Enochian murmurs over the phone fading for the time being. He looked resigned.

'It was Zachariah. It has his fingerprints all over it.'

'Zachariah, that son-of-a-bitch!' Dean ground out, standing sharply enough to send the chair scraping loudly across the linoleum floor. 'So, what? It's not enough he zaps me through time to the future demon-virus party town, tries to manipulate me to…He tries to use Sam to get me to…' Dean barely reacted as he smashed his fist down on the kitchenette counter in frustration and anger. Sam looked on wide-eyed. Maybe he wasn't the only one feeling trapped and manipulated, being thrown from pillar to post.

'No, Dean. This wasn't recent. This happened before.'

Dean's face morphed into confusion. Sam closed his eyes, not wanting to see how Dean reacted to Cas' next piece of insight. It was all coming out now. He really didn't want to have to bring up to whole Ruby situation again with Dean; it was better buried, ignored, forgotten. It was looking less and less likely that that would an option though. Sam grimaced, bracing himself. Cas glanced at Sam, before addressing Dean again.

'This happened around the time Sam killed Lilith.'

Sam sighed. There it was. He hated that they had to bring this up again. He just didn't understand. What did that night have to do with Zachariah doing something to his phone? His phone wasn't exactly important in this grand scheme of his screwing over the Winchesters and humanity along with them, and that's besides the sterling job Ruby was doing on her own in that field. It just didn't make sense. However, as much as picking at this wound hurt, Sam wanted to understand, to know the truth, to be given some kind of insight into one of the most messed up nights of his life.

'Why would….What?' Sam managed to stammer out.

'I've isolated the focus of Zachariah's attention. You received a voicemail the night you killed Lilith, correct?' Cas questioned.

Dean glanced at Sam, hands gripping the counter top where he was standing in an effort to control all the unbidden emotions this conversation was dredging up. All the pain and hurt and fear he'd felt at Sam's seeming betrayal, trying his damnedest to bring Sam back to him, to keep him safe, the heavy burden of knowing that he'd failed his dad, failed his last standing order, discovering he'd broken the first seal and that basically everything _everything _was all his fault, all leading up to that one heartfelt voicemail. And then of course there was everything that followed – the Apocalypse, Sam's guilt and fear and remorse, trying to allow himself to trust again, dealing with his battered and bent relationship with his brother, learning they were vessels, pawns in this whole messed up war, Bobby's injury…it was all too much. He was functioning only because he beat it all down, buried it all as deep as he could, because it hurt too much to deal with any of it. The only reason he was able to drag himself out of bed in the morning was that Sam was struggling with it all too, was trying to be brave and fight to make things right, so even if he couldn't make it alright for his little brother, he could at least stand by his side and struggle right along with him.

Dean sighed. Having Cas drag up that message was denting the fragile walls he'd built which helped him to deal with all of this; it was turning into a really crappy evening, he mused humourlessly. Dean knew full well that the message Cas was talking about was no doubt his. But what interest did that pompous dick Zachariah have in it? Dean felt righteous anger boiling just under the surface. That message was for Sam! The words were for Sam's ears alone. The thought that Zachariah had heard them too burned, burned fierce and hot; it felt like a violation. Dean clenched his fists, letting the dull sting of his nails digging into his palm centre him. Sam hadn't mentioned the message, for which Dean was glad in a way. He couldn't imagine what kind of chick flick moment would have been unleashed on him if Sam had. Chick flick probably wouldn't even cover it; they'd need a whole new word to cover whatever that conversation descended into. Dean cringed at the thought. He wasn't that good with emotions in face-to-face, real-time conversations, but it occurred to him, it was strange. Sam was more than likely to bring the message up; he was the exception to the Winchester rule of not talking about feelings if at all possible. Why hadn't he? A small frown twitched on Dean's brow at the thought; something was going here, just out of reach, he just knew it.

A glance at Sam's reaction to Cas' question confirmed his fears. How could his Sasquatch of a brother suddenly seem so small, so fragile? Sam sat, tense as a crossbow string in his seat, as if the slightest pressure would shatter him. His eyes were glued to the patterned wall, studiously avoiding both his and Cas' scrutiny.

No! Sam thought. No! He'd been trying so hard not to think about that message and the words it contained. Dean's voice echoed round his head unbidden. _Monster…vampire…bloodsucking freak…I'm done trying to save you…_ We were getting past this, Sam desperately reminded himself. Dean seemed to have let go of his anger, his apparent promise to rid the world of his evil brother forgotten in the cold light of day. They were getting better, moving past this, together. Dean's actions, everyday, seemed to attest to this, and for Dean, actions were what spoke the loudest. But that didn't mean his words from the voicemail didn't still haunt Sam. He just wanted to forget those words ever left this brother's lips. Even so, he hadn't been able to bring himself to delete the message. It wasn't like he's listened to it again, he couldn't; the mere thought of doing so, the memory of the message's contents, made his gut twist and heart ache. As the words crowded in his brain Sam clenched his jaw, willing away the sheen of tears which was blurring his vision as he nodded tightly in answer to Cas' question.

Cas had gone back to hovering his hand over the handset, seemingly trying to figure something out.

'Oh!' Cas exclaimed softly.

'What?' Dean demanded, pushing off from the counter, anxious to get to the bottom of this mystery and hopefully get Sam to step back from whatever edge he seemed to be teetering on.

'It appears that…' Cas trailed off, his blue gaze flitting across to Dean before coming to rest intently on Sam. Sensing he was once again the object of the angel's focus, Sam forced himself to meet his gaze, surprised to see something akin to compassion there, and underneath….dawning understanding? As Sam tried to puzzle through what that might mean, Cas was expertly deciphering Sam's expression himself. Cas saw a deep hurt in Sam's features and, unwilling to cause him further pain, made a decision, reckless perhaps but Dean had told him that when humans want something badly, they lie, and Dean seemed to know what he was doing so…

'Dean, I think it would be wise for you to contact Bobby Singer. Ensure nothing of his has also been tampered with or intercepted. Get him to check all his electrical devices for Enochian symbols. He may be in danger.'

Dean sprang into action, searching for his phone which he'd thrown carelessly on his unmade bed; if Bobby was in danger every second counted. He paused in dialling as Cas continued.

'You should check the Impala too. Look for Enochian symbols carved into it.'

Dean's jaw tighted on the thought of anyone defacing his baby like that.

'Look closely; they'll be hidden well.' Cas instructed, a commanding officer giving orders.

Dean nodded grimly and immediately headed outside, phone in hand, to check on his beloved car and call Bobby. He was reluctant to leave Sam, who was clearly distressed, but he had to see to all of their safety first, then he would tackle Sam's worries, whatever they were.

'Are we in danger?' Sam asked urgently, forcefully snapping himself out of his spiralling thoughts, ready to do whatever needed to be done to keep Dean and Cas, and apparently possibly Bobby, safe. He was quickly stopped by Cas' firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him to sit back down.

'No Sam, there is no danger.'

Sam frowned, confused, glancing at Dean's silhouette examining the underside of the Impala hood in the dusk-light, phone caught between his ear and shoulder as he used both his hands to carefully, almost lovingly, check for any angel-inflicted scratches.

'I thought it would be easier for you to hear the message without Dean present,' Cas explained, revealing his deception. Sam turned, surprised. Why would he want to relisten…?

'No, Cas. I can't…' Sam swallowed and cleared his throat, pulling himself together with some effort as he scratched the back of his neck, belying his discomfort. 'I'm not listening to that message again. I can't. I don't know what interest Zachariah had, or…or has, in it…why he would want to hear that and hack my phone to do it…well, apart from his own sick enjoyment I guess maybe…but…' Sam shook his head, throat tight. 'There's no need to play it again Cas, please. I…I don't know why I kept it, just a reminder of my promise to myself I guess, never to let anything like that happen ever again, but…Just delete Cas. Don't make me hear it again.'

'Sam,' Cas urged, holding out the phone, 'the message Dean sent you that night, Zachariah didn't just listen to it, he changed it. The message you heard was not the one Dean left you.'

Sam tore his eyes from Cas' face to the phone offered to him, as if he'd expected it to look completely different in light of this revelation, his breath catching.

'What…you mean, that wasn't… Dean didn't…' Sam shifted in his seat. He couldn't believe it, it was too much to take in, it was as if his brain had gone on vacation and he was left struggling to understand what he was being told. Dean didn't really say those things? It was too good to be true. But if something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. Sam sighed, resigned, his cynicism crashing through and ruthlessly tearing apart his childish hope. 'No, Cas. As much I wish it wasn't, it was Dean. It was Dean's voice; I'd know it anywhere.'

'You're right Sam. It was Dean's voice, but not his words. Zachariah changed it. Here.'

With that Cas pushed the phone into Sam's hands, giving him no choice but to take it. Sam's mind was spinning. The voicemail wasn't real. Dean hadn't said those things? But….but then what did he say? What if it was worse? his panicked mind suggested. No, how could it be worse? And anyway, they were together again now, they were doing better, so even if…they could still move past it, right? Sam tried to convince himself it would be fine. After they'd spoken after that leshi hunt, Sam felt that he and Dean were back on the same page, or at least the same chapter, which was an improvement seeing as how before they weren't even in the same library let alone the same book. Dean's attempt to give Sam what he needed earlier, diffusing the stress and tense atmosphere, was evidence enough Sam reasoned; Dean still knew him, understood him, and cared enough to use what he knew to help him when it was needed. Small actions like that, which Dean had demonstrated throughout the past weeks, had been what had helped Sam to put the voicemail behind him in the first place. Dean's actions negated his words; he let him drive the Impala, laughed with him and deferred to him again. Sam thought perhaps Dean had had second thoughts, reconsidered his view on Sam and the whole situation after sending the voicemail, but now he was being faced with the possibility of Dean never even having said those words at all; it was overwhelming. So maybe…maybe what Dean really had said would be better? He needed to hear it either way, Sam decided, screwing up his courage.

'Can you, um…can you get back the original?' Sam asked hopefully, offering the handset back to Cas who was watching him with veiled interest.

'Already done. Play it.' Cas stated simply as he perched himself on the edge of the made bed, hands folded serenely in his lap, and stared out of the window as intensely as he did everything else, in a clear gesture at giving Sam some privacy.

Taking a deep breath, Sam selected the voicemail, watching the screen light up, before bringing it slowly to his ear. He was trembling slightly; he'd thought he'd been better at putting this behind him, but his renewed fear at hearing the hateful assertion that there was '_no going back' _made his stomach swoop, despite Dean's contradictory actions to this ultimatum since. _'Dad said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning, I'm done trying to save you. You're not you anymore.' _The words drowned out any other thought in that moment, the grief crashing into Sam. Not real, he kept telling himself. Not real. But hearing even the phantom of those words again, from the one person in the world who mattered most to him, there was no denying Sam felt like he was bracing himself for a soul-shattering blow as the message began to play.

He almost jumped as Dean's voice came through the speaker. '_Hey, it's me.'_ Sam gaped; the message, Cas was right, it was different, it was… Sam refocused as Dean began speaking again. He couldn't help but tense as Dean told him how angry he was, but Dean's tone gave him hope. It wasn't the spitting hate he'd heard before; this was more defeated, resigned, like he was leading up to something else. Sam caught his lower lip in his teeth as he waited for the rest, carding his free hand through his still damp hair. The plastic of the phone creaked in his grip and he forced himself to stop clutching it so tight. _'I shouldn't've said what I said…you know, I'm not Dad.'_ Sam stood and hurried to the window to surreptitiously watch Dean as he remembered the crushing ultimatum his brother had thrown at him after the brutal fight in that hotel room. _'If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back.' _He'd almost forgotten those cutting words, his mind seemingly preferring to torment him instead with the words in Zachariah's fake voicemail. At Dean's admittance that the ultimatum he had given Sam in an attempt to make his younger brother see reason had almost destroyed them both and the regret he harboured because of it, Sam suddenly needed to see his brother, assuring himself that he was here and real. Sam watched as Dean smiled down the phone to Bobby, shaking his head in response to whatever Bobby had said, no doubt a variation on the old favourite exclamation of 'idjit' judging by Dean's reaction. Dean smoothed his hand along the sleek black of his baby's passenger door. Sam felt his face breaking into a matching smile as the message continued.

_'We're brothers, you know, we're family and…no matter how bad it gets, that doesn't change.'_ Sam took deep controlled breaths to stop his tears from spilling. He shouldn't be getting this emotional, he shouldn't, but it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Despite Dean's reassurances and actions which attested to his words, Sam had feared that his promises to start over could never be true, or that Dean' s love and trust was now no longer unconditional. Hearing that Dean had never really given up on him or truly turned on him was a blessed, miraculous relief. But it was Dean's _'Sammy, I'm sorry.'_ which nearly broke Sam's resolve to not sob like the little girl Dean always accused him of being. He didn't even know that he needed Dean to apologise for his ultimatum and the way he'd treated him. Sam thought, especially considering what he knew now, that Dean had been completely justified in calling him out like that, to try and stop him at any cost. Sam had beaten his brother half to death, betrayed him and hurt him, so yeah, he deserved it, but it would appear that despite Dean saying the words in the first place, Dean obviously didn't agree, didn't believe Sam deserved that, and he never had. It was liberating, a soul-deep relief, pure joy. Dean didn't think he was a monster beyond saving; Sam was his brother and that was the most important thing in the universe.

As the voicemail ended Sam sat gingerly on the edge on Dean's unmade bed, stunned, phone clutched in his joined hands, fingers absently running over the plastic. He risked a glance at the angel opposite him. Cas met his gaze, a small smile curving on his lips, a smile which Sam returned.

'Cas, I…Thank you.'

'You're welcome,' Cas replied, his smile incrementally growing.

Sam thought maybe this whole situation had done more than give him part of his brother back, a part he'd never really lost but rather had mistakenly been blinded to; Sam thought he'd gained a deeper insight into the angel in front of him. Sam began to see the level of devotion Cas had for Dean, his first true friend, and realised that through this whole messy scenario, to Cas he was no longer merely Dean's problem little brother, Lucifer's vessel, the boy who drank demon blood, the boy who brought on the Apocalypse, but he was now Sam Winchester, just Sam. Whilst Sam knew that Cas would always judge him for his part in starting the Apocalypse, the choices he'd made to cause it to happen, he thought perhaps, now, Cas understood, at least to small degree, why he'd done what he'd done and Sam felt another weight shift and lift from him. He was grateful to the angel, for offering him such redemption, but mostly for revealing Zachariah's deception. Cas had given Sam back some of his self-belief, or rather had taken away the self-imposed but unconscious barrier which still remained between him and his brother. They'd all been given a fighting chance, and Sam finally began to feel honest-to-goodness hope again for both him and Dean.

Sam held out his hand to Cas which Cas immediately took, returning his handshake warmly. An exaggerated cough from the doorway stilled them both; Sam twisted his position to see Dean leaning against the open doorframe, legs crossed and arms folded, a picture of ease and amusement.

'Did I miss anything?' Dean smirked, indicating to Cas and Sam's still joined hands. 'Hair-braiding? Pinky promises?'

'Any carvings?' Cas demanded, dropping Sam's hand, suddenly all business.

'Nada. Bobby's clear too.' Dean replied. 'So, about Sam's phone…'

'Good,' Cas responded to Dean's answer, ignoring everything else. 'I'll be off then. Goodbye Dean. Goodbye Sam.'

'Ca..?'

In a blink of an eye and a flurry of invisible feathered wings, Cas was gone.

'OK,' Dean complained, voice thick with sarcasm. 'Random. You think he'll ever master the complicated art of finishing a conversation? He never did say why he was here.'

Dean moved into the room, sparing his brother a glance, before turning to close the door. Sam seemed different, lighter somehow. Huh. As he was turning back Dean was engulfed in Sam's arms, the breath almost knocked out of him, as he was enveloped in one of Sam's more enthusiastic hugs, usually only reserved for near-death situations.

'Um, Sam?' he questioned warily, his voice muffled in Sam's shirt. 'It's…it's not Tuesday is it?'

Sam huffed.

'No Dean. I just…'

Sam was lost for words. He couldn't think how to express what he was feeling in words to make his brother understand, so he tried to pour everything he was feeling into the hug. Dean squirmed a little in his grasp, putting up a token resistance, more for show than any other reason, before relaxing and hugging Sam back, wrapping his arms around his brother and holding onto him just as tightly. Sam smiled; Dean seemed to respond to and understand actions rather than words better anyway. As Sam pulled back, Dean made an exaggerated effort to rearrange and smooth out his now crumpled t-shirt and undone over-shirt, causing Sam to roll his eyes affectionately.

'Am I ever going to understand what this past hour has been about? I feel like I've fallen into the Twilight-zone or something.' Dean grumbled.

Sam shot him a bright, wide smile, one which lit up his whole face, dimples shining in his cheeks. It made Dean's breath catch and heart soar; it'd been far too long since Sammy had smiled with such genuine happiness and he couldn't even begin to explain how glad that made him, which was not a girly thought at all, thank you very much, he was just happy that his baby brother felt able to smile again, even if he didn't quite understand why.

'Seriously, dude. Want to fill me in? Everything ok?'

Sam couldn't help but feel the hope which Dean's question represented. First of all, it was a question, a genuine question, not a demand to be told what was going on, and the tone of Dean's voice indicated that Dean was more interested in Sam himself rather than any possible strategic advantage or information about future confrontations with the Heaven-army they needed to prepare for in light of their interference with Sam's phone. Sam guessed, that for the first time in a very long while, if Sam attempted to avoid the question Dean wouldn't push it, trusting that if he needed to know something or Sam wanted him to know something Sam would tell him. He'd recently promised Sam equality and trust on a non-descript street in Canton, Ohio, and Sam could see that Dean was doing his best to give Sam that, despite his big brother instincts to want to know everything about his sibling and what was going on, so he could protect him as best as he could. Protect him…huh. Today was a day of epiphanies it seemed…how many crossed wires and misunderstandings could there be between two people?! Sam thought incredulously.

Sam was desperate to be seen as Dean's equal, not just the tag-along kid brother; he wanted to be trusted, to make decisions, to be treated like his opinions and ideas mattered, not to be treated like his every action was suspicious, like he was about to fall off the wagon or go darkside, again, like he couldn't be trusted without constant supervision and vetting. Sam thought Dean wanted to control him, to make sure he didn't go running off with monsters again or make bad decisions that would get people hurt, but now, he didn't think that that's what Dean had been doing at all. Sure, Dean had told him he'd been having a hard time trusting him, and really Sam couldn't blame him for that even though it had cut him deeper than he'd ever admit, but Dean had fought past that natural, reasonable distrust, worked through it for his brother and called him back. Dean's actions, and now the voicemail, Sam could see Dean wasn't trying to control him and make all the decisions himself, he was trying to protect Sam, shield him, keep him safe, from himself and from the world. His pain-in-the-ass big brother doing his job, as he had his whole life. And that was something Sam had no problem understanding; despite what Dean may think, he was just as serious about looking out for and protecting Dean, as Dean was about Sam, even if their chosen methods was somewhat different, so now he had finally realised what Dean had been trying to do, yeah, he could relate.

This realisation about his brother immediately squashed any temptation Sam had had to avoid the issue with Dean. He'd thought perhaps it'd be better for Dean not to know; Dean had thought his voicemail message had gotten through ok in the first place hadn't he? Sam wanted to spare Dean the pain of knowing that Sam had never heard it until now, the hurt in knowing that Sam had thought he'd said those awful things and that Sam had believed he would ever say that to him, and the anger at Zachariah for the whole thing. But he had to tell Dean; this reforged trust had to work both ways and he understood now why Dean had been overbearing in recent weeks. He was just trying to keep him safe, if a little over-zealously, and hell, Sam knew he was worse when he was trying to protect his hard-headed older brother, so really, how could he blame Dean for that? They had a real chance to get back what they had, to be stronger and closer than ever, and Sam was going to take it. Dean had inadvertently shown him already that it wasn't so big of a leap in any case, from letting Sam drive to repeatedly giving him the first shower, voluntarily buying him 'girly' food with minimal protest or ridicule, Dean had already quietly been building the bridge between them without Sam realising. It was a bit unstable and had pieces missing but they'd get there. His brother was too important to hide this from him. They'd be ok; Sam believed that now. Clearing his throat nervously, Sam glanced at Dean, and was met with a surprisingly open gaze. Sitting down, he took a deep breath and began explaining.

'Ruby and I were driving to the convent when I saw you'd left me a voicemail and….'

* * *

As Sam filled Dean in with all the revelations he'd missed, Dean sat quietly, saying nothing, just listening, waiting for Sam to finish. Only the clenched fists, fingers twisting together, and the jumping muscle in his jaw attested to the violent reaction Dean was probably desperate to give in to at Zachariah's meddling. Once he'd finished the whole tale, Sam waited for Dean to do something, say something. The stillness was so unlike Dean that Sam was beginning to worry.

'Dean…?'

'I'm gonna stab him, in the face.' Dean vowed, his voice hard as granite, level and deadly, not an angry declaration but a statement of absolute truth.

Sam half-smiled; the patented, healthy Winchester response then, and damn if that wasn't more comforting than it should be. He couldn't help but wring his hands though, worried at Dean's reaction to the rest of the story, that Sam had believed he'd said those things for so long.

'Dean…?' Sam tried again, as Dean sighed.

'I'm sorry Sammy.' Dean whispered. The words were spoken so quietly Sam was unsure whether they were meant for him, despite the 'Sammy' and the fact that he was the only other person in the room.

'Why? Dean, you didn't know, it wasn't your fault.'

'I know, but I am sorry you had to go through that, spent all this time thinking I said that to you. I wondered why you sometimes flinched away from me, like you were scared of me, like you thought I was gonna do something to you. That…hurt, Sammy. But instead of feeling sorry for myself I should've just asked, chick-flick moments be-damned, and maybe this whole mess could've been cleared up sooner. I shouldn't've let it slide.'

'I never meant to hurt you like that either Dean and I'm sorry I didn't know it was all a lie, but you didn't let anything slide, not really. I mean, I wouldn't have mentioned it anyway, even if you had asked, so it's on me too. Probably wouldn't have ever found out if it weren't for Cas wondering why you were phoning him. Why did you anyway?'

'Why did I what?' Dean stalled, startled at the sudden change in topic.

'Phone Cas.'

'Oh, just wanted to see how he was doing,' Dean shrugged. 'After seeing what happened to Cas in future-land, I just wanted to keep tabs on him I guess.'

To try and keep him safe too, Sam's mind supplied, hearing what Dean didn't say. A soft smile escaped onto his face; Dean did that a lot, looking out for people, even if he'd deny it to his dying breath, and Sam swore he would do the same for Dean too. Seeing Sam's smile, Dean bristled, taking it for mocking. 'What's wrong with that?' he demanded defensively.

'Nothing, nothing at all.' Sam chuckled at Dean's indignation, before deciding to let him off the hook, but not forgetting to file the information away for later. Schooling his face into an earnest expression Sam had to ask Dean, had to make sure, 'Seriously though, we good?'

'Yeah, we're good,' Dean admitted with a soft smile, before clearing in throat awkwardly. 'Now, are we done? Because I feel like I should start wearing one of your pink shirts or something.'

'I don't own any pink shirts!' Sam spluttered.

Dean raised a disbelieving eyebrow, striding across to the pile of clothes Sam had been sorting in the corner of the room and retrieving a decidedly pink-looking garment. Dean picked it up between one finger and his thumb, holding it at arms' length, as if it could contaminate him or something else equally ridiculous.

'Pink, Sammy.'

'Not pink.' Sam refuted resolutely.

'Sam, I taught you your colours. And you used to sing that goddawful, mind-numbingly cheerful rainbow song, in your squeaky voice, every single hour of the day when you were three; I swear you did it just to annoy me. So yeah, this is pink and I know that you know it.'

'I didn't have a squeaky voice Dean. And that's not pink.' Sam protested again. 'It's salmon.'

There was a stunned pause, Dean's face frozen halfway between horror and disbelief.

'And if that's not damning evidence against your masculinity I don't know what is!' Dean retorted with a laugh, clearly enjoying tormenting his younger brother.

'Maybe I'm secure enough in my masculinity that I'm comfortable wearing a salmon shirt.' Sam countered.

'Yeah, well….' Dean faltered, before sticking his tongue out at Sam in retort, surprising a laugh out of him.

'Yeah, real mature Dean.'

Dropping the shirt back onto the pile and returning to the table, Dean flipped Sam off. 'I'm the poster boy for maturity Sammy…and you did have a squeaky voice, you sounded like a mouse on helium or somethin'. I begged Dad to give me money to buy ear plugs, but nooo, I had to put up with it apparently, never did figure out why.' Dean paused, seemingly giving the matter some careful thought, as Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's pantomiming. 'Hmm, maybe it was training in case we ever went up against a banshee or something? Banshee-shrieking would be a piece of cake compared Sammy-singing.'

'Red and yellow and pink and green….' Sam began, in the shrillest, most whining voice he could manage. 'Purple and orange and bluuuuuue…..ow!'

Sam was cut off as Dean cuffed him sharply around the head. 'Shut up Sam.'

'That hurt Dean,' Sam complained indignantly, rubbing the back of his head, pouting in a way that would have made a six year old Sammy jealous.

'What? You were making my ears bleed.'

'You're an ass.'

Before Dean could respond, Sam's stomach chose to loudly remind him just how hungry he was, so, ignoring Dean's miming of chalking one up on Sam, Sam reached for his salad box, placing his phone almost reverently on the table beside it, before catching the fork Dean slid to him from his side of the table. Dean pulled up the other chair, spinning it around and sitting astride it, arms folded, resting on the back. Sam snapped off the plastic lid of the salad box before proceeding to stab at his food with gusto.

'So, where to next?' Sam questioned, hoping the inevitable drive to wherever Dean wanted to go wouldn't be too long so he had at least half a chance to go to bed tomorrow night without still feeling like he was permanently twisted out of shape.

'Hhmm?' Sam's query pulled Dean's attention away from picking at a splinter sticking up from the chair back.

'Tomorrow. Where we going?'

'What? You mean you don't have another case lined up research boy? Somewhere to head for?' Dean quipped.

Dean's tone was so teasing yet so matter-of-fact; in fact it was so reminiscent of Dean before life got so damn complicated that Sam felt a pang that nearly caused him to miss the huge significance of the question. He snapped his head up to shoot a questioning look at his brother, narrowly avoiding whiplash in the process he reacted so quickly. Dean raised his eyebrows questioningly. It had felt like forever since Dean had genuinely asked for his opinion on where they should go, what they should do, particularly in relation to possible hunts, and then follow through on the answer given. Sam couldn't help but feel this moment was important, but emulating Dean's casual manner so as to not make the whole thing a big deal, Sam cast his mind back to the half-hearted browsing he'd done lately in the hope that maybe his brother wanted his input. Several newspaper stories flashed to mind. One had particularly caught his attention so earlier that day while they were stopped at a restroom he'd piggy-backed the local wifi, hacked into the related police department's system and pulled up the crime report.

'Well. There was something that might be worth checking out over in Nebraska, some place called Alliance I think. This girl, Amber, was babysitting; couple get back and find her dead on the couch from a head injury.'

'Not what you want to be finding after a night out I guess, but not necessarily our kind of thing.' Dean interjected.

'Well no, apart from the fact that there was no forced entry, all the doors and windows were locked, no weapon found at the scene, the boy was apparently sound asleep and therefore didn't see or hear anything…and something had pretty much clawed right through her skull. Oh, and before you ask, they didn't have any pets either.'

'Huh. So, what's our in? FBI? Friends of this Amber chick? What?'

'Er...' Sam faltered, so accustomed to Dean deciding the details of their investigations. He knew exactly what Dean was doing however, and was grateful for it. He knew it was no doubt going against Dean's every instinct but it appeared Dean was trying to let Sam grow up, just as Sam had asked him, and this was one small way of showing his little brother that he trusted him and that he was an equal part in their working relationship. Sam considered Dean's question for a moment, weighing the options, trying not to think too much about how Dean probably had a strategy in mind anyway, even if he wasn't voicing it, and how desperate he was to get this right and prove himself worthy of Dean's trust.

'I think FBI, that way we'll be able to gain access to the corpse and assess what happened for ourselves.'

Dean groaned, his head falling forwards, forehead resting on his arms. Sam paused, fork halfway to his mouth, worried that Dean was expressing his disagreement with his plan. Dean had asked his opinion and now he was knocking it down just like that? So much for deferring to him Sam thought. Sam braced himself for an argument, hoping they could both keep their tempers in check.

'What?' Sam challenged, as non-confrontationally as he could manage.

Lifting his head Dean explained, in a voice that couldn't be described as anything but a whine, 'I don't wanna wear my suit again. It itches. But, yeah,' he sighed, 'it's a good call. FBI it is. You gonna fill me in on the rest of the report?'

Sam nearly sagged in relief. Dean was giving him this chance, the first of many he hoped; his brother was treating him as an equal, listening to him and valuing what he had to say, and after months…years… of being controlled, first by John, then by Dean, no matter how well-meant, and then, however unknowingly at the time, by Ruby, Sam couldn't deny it felt pretty damn good. He felt a rush of affection for his brother for doing this for him, and he would've launched himself at Dean for another hug if he'd thought he would survive the endeavour; Sam's self-preservation won out however and he limited himself to a small smile.

'Sure,' Sam agreed. 'Town's no more than a couple of hours away; I'll fill you in on the drive. It'll help keep you awake anyway; we'll have to leave early if we want to get to the morgue first thing.'

Sam laughed as Dean groaned again. 'Yeah, okay, but you're on caffeine duty. I am not going anywhere without at least two cups of coffee.'

'Yeah yeah, I'm aware of your caffeine addiction; it's almost as worrying as your infatuation with burgers.'

At this Dean's face brightened as he was reminded about his forgotten burger bonanza and snagged the bag towards him, pulling out burger number two and tearing it in half before stuffing one of the pieces into his mouth.

'Ergh, Dean, that's gross. And you can't eat that, it'll be cold.' Sam protested in disgust, wrinkling his nose.

'Hate to tell to Sam, but your salad is in fact cold too.' Dean deadpanned, around his food.

Sam mock-glared, pointing at Dean with his salad-laden fork, falling back into over two decades of brotherly banter. 'Salad is meant to be cold genius.'

'Wow! Well, you learn something new every day. You know, smarts like that are the reason why you're the college geek-boy of the family. ' Dean quipped, through his mouthful. 'Even if you still can't recognise the colour pink,' he added as an afterthought.

It was only thanks to years of refining his reflexes for the hunt that Dean was able to duck and avoid being hit squarely in the head by Sam's plastic salad box lid which was launched in his direction.

'Hey!' he exclaimed indignantly.

Seeing Sam's, scarily all-too-convincing, picture of innocence, chewing serenely on his lettuce, his wide-eyed 'who me?' expression a welcome echo of his younger self, Dean decided to fight like for like, pegging his open burger box at his kid brother across the table.

'Dean!' Sam complained, as the melted cheese which was stuck to the inside of the box smeared down his shirt. Grinning evilly Sam threw the box aside, collected the gooey mess along the edge of his thumb, and ate it. Dean gaped.

'Stop stealing my food, bitch!'

'Then stop throwing it at me, jerk!'

Sam grinned at Dean's mock-scowl. Yeah, the road ahead was dark and, frankly, terrifying, but him and Dean? they were going be ok, together. Sure there'd be arguments, fights, difficult decisions to be made, and Sam held no illusions that such light-hearted moments would be few and far between, but they'd be okay; as Dean said, they were brothers after all, family, and no matter how bad things were going to get, that would never, ever change.


End file.
